


kiss a wookiee

by drivingnotwashing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Season/Series 03, Sibling Incest, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingnotwashing/pseuds/drivingnotwashing
Summary: “Dude, tomorrow we’re raiding the grocery store two streets over,” Sam’s brother says, snapping his chopsticks and digging into the sticky orange chicken sitting in front of him, “I saw at least three different chocolate aisles, there’s going to be enough Valentine’s Day leftovers to feed us for weeks.”Sam stabs one of his wontons with a fork, “I thought you’d been gone longer than that.”Dean frowns, there’s already sauce all over his chin and rice at the corner of his mouth, Sam fights the desire to lick his thumb and wipe it down, “What are you talking about?”“It’s Valentine’s Day, Dean.” He doesn’t get why his brother is playing stupid, usually he’s out of the door, covered in cologne and smirking before the sun even had the time to set and now he wants to play coy?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170





	kiss a wookiee

**Author's Note:**

> hello! here is a very self-indulgent fic where sam recalls his first kiss and dean decides to change valentine's day traditions. i hope this makes you smile as much as it made me smile while writing it! (it's sugary sweet fluff, something i usually would never write but hey! 2021 new year, new me)
> 
> trigger warning: talks of underage kissing and drinking, sibling incest (duh)
> 
> as always; if you don't like the ship/the concept, don't read and if you do, enjoy!

There’s a heart-shaped, glitter red wrapped chocolate on Sam’s pillow. He looks at it for a long time before he picks it up, crumbles the foil and plops it in his open mouth. He doesn’t chew it, doesn’t swallow it either, he lets it melt on his tongue and tries to not let its caramel core stick to his teeth. The motel room this time is quite large, or at least larger than the last five ones they’ve slept in. They’re in Nebraska, somewhere near Valentine, which is such an unfunny coincidence that Sam steals Dean’s own pillow chocolate and eats it with a pout. 

His brother told him he was making a quick run to get some food and some gas, he left Sam with his fake credit card because Sam used his last dime in the town they stayed at last week and told him to get them a room for the night. There’s no hunt here, or at least none that they have discovered yet, but they were both too tired and sore to sleep another night in the car and there’s possibly a werewolf in Douglas Wyoming. They’re headed there next, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, Sam’s not sure when Dean will actually reappear considering the date.

It’s the 14th of February, Valentine’s Day in Valentine, in three months Sam’s brother is going to get dragged to Hell bloody and kicking, Sam has no idea on how he’s going to get him out of his deal, Dean doesn’t even _seem_ to want out and _fuck_ , it’s Valentine’s day, the worst possible day of the year.

Sam’s not fond of many celebrations, he’s not even sure he’s fond of _any_. He doesn’t like Halloween, doesn’t really like Easter either, he couldn’t care less about Thanksgiving, he has bad blood with Christmas, New Year's Eve and his birthday too. The only thing he can muster some joy for his Dean’s own birthday, when they were kids and not running for their lives in a haunted house, he’d work his ass off during the holidays to get Dean a tape, usually, he’d pick something he knew for sure Dean would like, some Led Zep or Metallica, but sometimes he’d get something stranger, something Dean wouldn’t choose for himself, he’d gotten him some german hard metal when Dean turned nineteen, a Kate Bush tape when he Dean turned twenty, of all the dates in the year, January the 24th was his favorite. Valentine’s Day, however, filled him with impossible dread.

With Jess, he’d tried to get over it, maintaining a semi-functional and healthy relationship meant compromise and he’d celebrate mostly everything as long as she let him spend his birthday doing nothing in front of a wildlife documentary while eating Funyuns and ignoring his phone that didn’t ring at all, not that he’d cared, so what if Dean and Dad didn’t call or send him a text for his birthday, he’d made it clear to the both of them that he didn’t need them and for once they’d listened. Funyuns and the mating life of hyenas were just as good as a birthday text from his big brother, Jess knew that, she didn’t push, she didn’t make him shower or wear pants on his birthday and because he was a good boyfriend who knew that dates mattered, he’d taken her each year to see a movie and get tacos on Valentine’s Day; like he said, semi-functional and healthy.

But Jess isn’t here anymore, hasn’t been here for a while and the issues Sam has with Valentine’s Day were born long before he’d even met her, when he was only thirteen.

He’s laying on his bed, ready to get lost in his own memories again when the door of the motel room opens and Dean slides in, a wide smile plastered on his face and two plastic bags in hands. 

“Got us some grub, Sammy.” He closes the door with his foot, puts the food on their table near the window and locks the room, Sam frowns.

“You’re back already?”

Dean doesn’t look at him, too busy getting their meal ready, he’s got them some actual forks from somewhere, maybe the restaurant or the reception, and he makes a confused sound at the back of his throat as a response. Sam stands up, taking a seat in front of his piping hot bowl of wonton soup. Dean got them enough Chinese food to last a month, there’s a mountain of egg rolls, fried rice and noodles, three different types of chicken and soup, which Dean only gets because Sam likes it and insists that he eats it too so he doesn’t get scurvy. If by the end of the evening Sam can still see his toes, he’ll call himself lucky.

“Dude, tomorrow we’re raiding the grocery store two streets over,” Sam’s brother says, snapping his chopsticks and digging into the sticky orange chicken sitting in front of him, “I saw at least three different chocolate aisles, there’s going to be enough Valentine’s Day leftovers to feed us for _weeks_.”

Sam stabs one of his wontons with a fork, “I thought you’d been gone longer than that.”

Dean frowns, there’s already sauce all over his chin and rice at the corner of his mouth, Sam fights the desire to lick his thumb and wipe it down, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Dean.” He doesn’t get why his brother is playing stupid, usually he’s out of the door, covered in cologne and smirking before the sun even had the time to set and now he wants to play coy? 

Sam has seen his brother’s games, all of them, he knows each of Dean’s flirting techniques by heart, he knows what smile Dean will paint on his face for each occasion, he knows which pickup line he will use, he _knows_ . He knows them as a witness and as a prey, he’s been here, the one targeted by that smile with just a hint of teeth that Dean gives to girls he particularly wants to take home, the one that gets him lucky on Valentine’s Day. Sam knows Dean from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes, he knows Dean likes Christmas, he knows that Dean finds Halloween candy (the ones shaped like eyeballs and witch hands) wonderful, he knows Dean drives them to certain towns where there are more bookshops than clubs in May, he knows that Dean plans Valentine’s Day excitedly each year and eating Chinese food with his grumpy little brother is _never_ on the schedule. Almost never. It only happened once before and it wasn’t Chinese food, it was cold pizza and coffee liqueur. 

The memory makes Sam shiver, Dean eyes him up and down like he’s the one acting crazy, maybe he is, he feels like he’s been crazy this entire year.

“So?” It’s just one word, but it’s the nonchalance in Dean’s voice that makes Sam want to throw hot wontons at his face.

“ _So_ ? Dean, it’s Valentine’s Day, your favorite day of the year,” He lets his spoon fall in the soup, “And since you’re so set on it, it might be your _last_ Valentine’s Day, what are you doing here?”

Dean blinks, eats another piece of chicken and smiles like, once again, Sam is crazy, “Where am I supposed to be?”

Sam is this close of throwing the bowl on his head, he lifts his arms in exasperation instead, “At a bar, at an Olive Garden, I don’t know, wherever you go when you’re trying to get laid, Dean. You always get laid on Valentine's Day.”

Dean looks more and more amused, “Are you mad that I’m not out? What’s up with you, Sammy?”

“I’m not _mad_ , I just don’t get it. What changed your plans this time?” He is mad, he’s not even hiding it well, he’s not sure _why_ he is.

“Who says I had plans this time.”

“You always have plans on Valentine’s Day.”

“Not always, and clearly not this time.”

“Which is what I don’t get.”

“If you want me out of the room so badly, you can say it, Sam.”

“I don’t! I don’t care what you do or where you go!” Right, because yelling about it is so detached and casual. He’s such a mess.

“Fine,” Dean says, there’s a tinge of frustration in his voice, “Then eat your damn soup and shut up.”

They don’t talk for a while, Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean rips two beers open for them and Dean says nothing when Sam picks his leftover mushrooms off his plate. When they’re done eating, Sam shoves the empty boxes in a plastic bag and goes out to throw it in one of the motel’s parking’s trash cans. He takes a moment to breathe before he gets back in, he watches the clouds get darker and tries to calm his thoughts. So what if Dean decided to stay here tonight, it’s fine, Sam always complains when he comes back late and wakes him up anyway, it’s fine, it’s Sam wants. But that’s the problem, because Dean deserves to have fun, he deserves to do the things _he_ wants to do, not what he thinks will please Sam. 

There’s guilt in everything Sam owns, there’s guilt and regrets building in everything he touches, he wants to say it’s a coincidence but he’s known for a while that he ruins everything he loves. And of course, that includes Dean.

He doesn’t look at his brother when he walks back in, he just goes straight to the bathroom. If Dean stays in because he thinks that’s what Sam wants then Sam will just have to push him out, for his own good, and maybe to push his brother out, he needs to be ready to take a few steps outside too.

He showers quickly, he tries to comb his hair while it’s wet because there’s a cowlick at the back of his head that never settles down when he tries to style it dry, but it just stands and curls around his fingers now too and he has to accept that this is his life, forever looking like a toddler who doesn’t know how to brush his mane down.

He comes out with a too-small towel wrapped around his hips, which he keeps secure with one hand while digging furiously into his duffle with the other. He must have something that’s not stained with blood somewhere and if he doesn’t he’ll steal a pair of jeans from Dean, it will be too short at the ankles, but he hopes this isn’t where people’s eyes will go first.

“What are you doing?” His brother asks behind him.

“I’m building a rocket,” He turns and rolls his eyes, Dean’s cheeks are pinker than he remembers, maybe the beer is getting to him quicker than usual. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re naked, Sam.” 

“You’re not better off, dude,” And it’s true, Dean is shirtless, he’s only wearing his boxers, his amulet and his socks. His hair is messy, sticking out from each side as if he rolled on his pillow, the view makes something in Sam’s chest ache. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Dean frowns and pouts, his lips are red and wet, almost a little glossy which, Sam is sure, comes from the fried chicken. “Since when?”

“Since now, c’mon, I think we’re early enough for happy hour.” Sam takes some clean underwear, a white shirt that doesn’t look too dirty and black jeans that he knows for a fact don’t belong to him but still ended up in his bag. He turns to get back in the bathroom when Dean jumps off his bed and grabs his arm.

Sam’s skin goes hot where Dean’s fingers touch him. It’s stupid, they’re close, they’re in each other pocket’s every minute of every hour, but he’s naked, like Dean said, and this feels strange, intimate in a way they aren’t. Or haven’t been in a long time.

“I don’t want to go out,” Dean says, there's no hesitation in his voice, nothing that sounds like a lie either. It doesn’t make sense.

“Of course you do,” Sam replies, “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Dean groans, “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam! Stop it with that! I told you I didn’t have any goddamn Valentine’s Day plans, stop trying to make me go out because you think it’s what I want!”

“It is what you want!”

“No! It isn’t! And it never has been!”

Sam shakes his brother’s grip off of him, he’s still only wearing a towel and his nudity is starting to make itself known to him, but Dean is right next to him, angry and Sam is so tired of this between them, this weight of things they don’t talk about.

“It might not be what you want tonight, okay, I get it, but don’t go rewriting history now, Dean.” He bangs the bathroom’s door closed and gets dressed quickly. Dean knocks on the door as he zips his pants up.

He’s right in Sam’s face when he gets out, “What is that supposed to mean?” He got dressed too, but with his old clothes, he smells like the car’s leather and the microwaved nachos they shared at a station yesterday. 

“You know what it means.”

A growl, “I wouldn’t fucking ask if I knew, Sam.”

There was a time where they didn’t really need to talk to know, when Sam was young and he still thought he was Dean’s best friend. Things changed between them long before Stanford, they’ve just been too big of cowards to admit it.

“Do you remember Valentine’s Day 1997?”

Now there’s fear in Dean’s eyes, behind the green and the ire, “I-”

“I didn’t think you did, because you always acted like it never happened.” Sam smiles, his mouth tastes sour, he feels like his lips could blister. “But I remember.”

“Sam-”

“I was thirteen, you were eighteen.” He can still see the pimples on his jaw, he can still hear the first signs of puberty in his own voice. He’d been an ugly kid. Dean had always been pretty. “We were in Oregon, it snowed so bad we had to stay inside the cabin Dad left us at for a week. I didn’t even go to school, you didn’t work. We watched Star Wars over and over again because we didn’t have any channels on the TV and it was the only VHS tapes we had.”

“You wanted to make lightsabers with sticks,” Dean interrupts, voice memory soft, “Of course I remember, Sam, we were snowed in for so long you started saying that we were going to reincarnate into cans of beans.”

“It’s all we ate,” He sits down on his own bed, Dean does the same, they stare at each other, only separated by a few inches of carpet, “Except on that night, you found an old veggie pizza in the freezer.”

“We shared, and we watched the Empire Strikes Back again, because-”

“It’s the best one and you-”

“I found that mocha liqueur shit,” Dean says, they know where this is going, Sam can almost taste the sweetness and the thickness of the coffee on his tongue. “And I let you drink it with me and we talked about what you did in school, and about girls and I asked you if you, if you, uh-”

“If I had ever kissed anyone.” There it is, that weight, the unsaid. “And I told you no, because I was thirteen and a nerd. And I was so scared to tell you because you told me you kissed your first girl in kindergarten.”

“A gross exaggeration.” Dean tries to laugh, but it’s clipped.

“And you said I didn’t have to worry, that if I wanted,” Sam takes a deep breath, they never talked about this, he never confessed it to anyone else either, not even Jess. He’s always kept this close to his own heart. He wonders if Dean did too, or if he laughed about it with Cassie, with other girls around a beer. “That if I wanted, we could practice.”

Dean drew a quick and short breath, Sam watched the shape of his lips, the small space between them where he could see sharp teeth, he knew for a fact that his brother liked to bite, “You were my first kiss.”

It’s strange what truth does to people when they do not want to hear it, maybe that was why Sam had never really told anyone who he was, maybe he wanted to protect himself from the way they left. 

The truth is said, Dean bolts off the bed, “Maybe you’re right, I should go.”

Sam’s smile is rehearsed, it almost doesn’t hurt. “You did this that time too, the day after. There was still snow on the roads but you walked to the closest place and you slept out. You came back smelling like a girl, saying you barely remembered the last time we saw each other, that you were too drunk. You started going out on Valentine’s Day every year after that.” 

Dean rubs at the bridge of his nose, “Did you know?”

“Know what?” Sam tips his head on the right.

“That I lied.”

He did, he almost always knew, he’d learned how to lie watching his brother, they practiced that, too. “Does it matter?”

Maybe that’s enough of an answer, Dean steps away from the door, comes back near their beds, but he doesn’t sit on his, he walks to Sam’s, takes his place. Their legs touching, their knees gracing, “Sammy, I should have never-” He sighs, from somewhere deep within, “I’m your big brother, I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have taken that from you. I’m so sorry.”

This is a moment, one of those that can pass and change everything, Sam can let it go, they can watch something, go to sleep and never talk about it again. He should do it, he should lie down in his own bed and let the past stay where it belongs, far away.

But next year, Dean will be gone, next year, all Sam will have is the past and so he looks at his brother and says, “I’m not.”

Dean takes a deep breath, “Don’t, Sam, don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to make me feel better, don’t do this for me, Sammy.”

“You always think I’m better than I am,” Sam grabs his brother’s hand, the one where he wears a ring, one that looks so much like the one their mother wore in the few pictures they still had of her that Sam had always wondered if Dean had bought it for this purpose. “I’m selfish, Dean, I’m doing this for me.”

It was easy to take Dean’s chin between two fingers and bring his face closer, it was easy too, to press a kiss at the corner of his lips. It became even easier, when Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s face, cradling his jaw with the right and the back of his neck with the left.

“Sammy,” A whisper against his lips, “My baby brother.”

It probably says something about Sam that the reminder brings a shiver to his spine, he moans into Dean’s open mouth, he lets his brother’s fingers trace circles on his skin, he lets himself get pushed against the soft surface of his bed. 

His hair is still damp from his shower, it sticks to his face and the pillow, Dean carts it away. Sam smiles when he feels it, the tender kiss Dean puts on his jaw, then his cheek, then even higher, on his forehead. It’s brother sweet, something he’s done for years, but teasing too.

“What was it that you said, Sammy?” An edge of teeth to Sam’s ear, some gentle biting, it tickles and it’s probably a lot less sexy than Dean seems to think it is. “I always get laid on Valentine’s Day? Wanna carry the tradition.”

Sam punches his chest lightly, it’s playful, “Shut up, you’re a jerk.”

Dean hums against his neck, licks at Sam’s pulse point and in that moment Sam is so full of love, he can barely breathe. He grabs Dean’s hair, pulls a little, just so he can watch into his eyes and promise. “Dean, _Dean_ , I’m going to save you.”

“I know, Sammy.”

Another pull, just so he’ll stop making his way from Sam’s neck to his chest, “And I love you.”

Dean laughs, it’s muffled by Sam’s shirt, “God, you’re such a girl.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was thinking the other way around.”

And Sam feels a spark of arousal, something he doesn’t let himself enjoy often. He’s going to pull his shirt off, maybe Dean’s too, when his brother grabs his face again, locks his fingers in Sam’s hair and looks at him. It’s a bit like drowning.

“I love you too,” Dean says, it’s so low Sam wouldn’t hear it if they weren’t so close, but it’s true. He wants to hold the words in his hands, he wants to keep them in his palm and never let them go. Never let Dean go.

Instead, he takes his most sombre expression, “I know.”

Dean stares for a few seconds before pushing a finger between his ribs, “Wrong movie, you fucking bitch.”

The kiss after doesn’t taste like coffee liqueur, but it’s even sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are much appreciated! find me on [tumblr](https://itstartswithbloodshed.tumblr.com/)


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